


dirt and dregs, silt and stars

by SerpaSas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode: s05e10 Status Asthmaticus, First Kiss, Gen, I didn't even ship this until I started writing it basically, M/M, OH GOD WHAT IS THIS, Sharing a Bed, post status asthmaticus, this is all the fault of the Cabbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpaSas/pseuds/SerpaSas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell me what really happened with Donovan,” he says, “because I get the feeling Theo might have lied, a little.”</p><p>And you can't, you can't, because Scott is dead and you let him die and, god, this is the boy you would light yourself on fire for, let <em>him</em> light you on fire, let the both of you burn because it would be better than having that promise you swore to yourself, that you would keep him safe, keep him whole, be a lie. This is the boy that's dead, dead because you broke that promise anyways.</p><p>“Stiles?” he asks, and he sounds concerned, and he sounds alive, and maybe he is. Maybe he beat the odds, beat the villain, beat death by saying <em>I'm Scott McCall and that's not what's happening</em>. Maybe Scott is alive and sitting at the foot of your bed, and maybe that knowledge has you collapsing, falling to your knees in front of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dirt and dregs, silt and stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meliorist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliorist/gifts).



> WELL. This was... I'm not gonna say 'fun to write' because honestly what the hell kind of sociopath would I have to be, but I did write almost all of it in one go, which is pretty unusual for me- even with this small a word count. So. This goes out to the Cabbage, for being a loser and enabling me.

In the time it takes to get your dad to the hospital, have the doctor's look him over and fix him up, and get him set up in a hospital bed, you've counted thirteen calls that you didn't answer and lost count of how many texts have gone unchecked.

The third time it goes off after your dad is settled, he looks at you questioningly. “Aren't you gonna get that?”

Checking your phone is about the last thing you want to do, because you know what they'll tell you.

Theo gave you a choice; save Scott, or save your dad. You had chosen your father.

The Alpha pack gave them the same choice, once- save Derek or save Deaton. They had split up instead. Scott had decided neither would die, and they didn't.

(They lost Boyd that night, but... it wasn't the first time they had causalities. Boyd wasn't the first to get sucked into this world Peter started with one bite, and he wasn't the first to die because of it. He wasn't the last, either.)

But you aren't Scott, and the pack- your pack? Probably not, anymore- is split apart. So you had chosen your father, because he's all you have left, and that means Scott's dead. Scott is dead because you couldn't go after him, because despite your mistrust in the beginning, you let Theo in, stopped looking for his motive or a slip-up.

That's what those messages will say, what the person calling you will say. And until you have to heard the words, it's not real. And you think you might die yourself when you have to face it all.

“Nope,” you tell him. “It can wait.”

You silence it, put it in your pocked. You don't answer your phone while you're allowed to stay in the hospital room, you don't answer it driving home after the nurses kick you out, you don't answer it walking into your house, or on the way up to your room. The latest text alert has gone silent when you open your bedroom door, and the light from the screen is glowing from where its in your pocket, just enough to see the dark shape of a person on your bed.

You're almost expecting it, really, expecting Theo to be here to gloat. To flash his newly red eyes and tell you how his plan- whatever it was- to kill Scott worked. It doesn't stop your flail of surprise, and it doesn't stop the lurch you make to your lightswitch.

And then the room isn't dark anymore, and Scott is sitting on your bed.

“Tell me what really happened with Donovan,” he says, “because I get the feeling Theo might have lied, a little.”

And you can't, you can't, because Scott is dead and you let him die and, god, this is the boy you would light yourself on fire for, let _him_ light you on fire, let the both of you burn because it would be better than having that promise you swore to yourself, that you would keep him safe, keep him whole, be a lie.

This is the boy that's dead, dead because you broke that promise anyways, because the one you made your mother on her last days, in her final lucid moment, that you would take care of your father trumped the one you made to yourself on a playground on a day lost in a thousand other days, when this boy had looked at you and smiled and called you his best friend. The promise you had sworn to yourself again and again, the day Scott showed up with bruises and no memory of how they got there, only that his dad was gone and you had to bite down on the word _good_ , the day you realized what your spontaneous trip into the dark woods had cursed him with, and every day after that.

“Stiles?” he asks, and he sounds concerned, and he sounds alive, and maybe he is. Maybe he beat the odds, beat the villain, beat death by saying _I'm Scott McCall and that's not what's happening_. Maybe Scott is alive and sitting at the foot of your bed, and maybe that knowledge has you collapsing, falling to your knees in front of him.

He slips down off the bed, then, moves to kneel in front of you and touch your shoulder. “Stiles?” he repeats, and god, oh, god, he's alive.

“You're alive,” you say, and his face does something complicated, something you know means _I don't think this is funny but you probably will, Stiles,_ because you know everything his face does and what it means.

“I'm alive,” he repeats. “Apparently I wasn't for like, fifteen minutes, but...”

It's not funny, you don't find it funny, but a choked sort of laugh finds its way out anyways. Or maybe it's not a laugh, because there's a burning in your eyes and and itching in your nose and maybe actually you're crying. “I'm sorry,” you tell him, “I'm so sorry. My dad- Theo- I had to save my dad-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Scott says, and he hugs you. “You made the right choice.”

You hold onto that hug longer than you should, because- “Theo didn't lie. I killed Donovan. I impaled him with the scaffolding, I-”

But Scott doesn't let go, doesn't push you away. “So you didn't beat him to death with a wrench,” he says, and he sounds like he just answered a question in class, like he just got it right.

You pull away to gape at him, a little. “Beat him- Scott, I know I've got a little more muscle since last year, but Donovan was a Chimera. A Wendigo. How would I have _beat him to death_ never mind _with a wrench_?”

Scott looks a little embarrassed at that, admits, “I didn't really think it through that well? Theo said it like- and Hayden was dying, and...” he trails off, looks up at you. “Scaffolding?”

So you tell him. Explain why the wrench had blood on it, how you climbed and how you loosed the beams and watched Donovan die. You show him the mark on your shoulder, almost healed by now and definitely scaring into the weirdest mark you've ever seen, but probably not the weirdest you ever will. If you're lucky, you think, it'll be the weirdest scar you'll ever have. If you're even luckier, you'll get the chance to get weirder ones.

Scott touches it gently, and you tell him, “It doesn't hurt that much, anymore.”

“It still hurts?” he asks, removing his fingers.

“Well, yeah.” you admit. “I think he was trying to, like, suck out my soul or something. Either way, he took like a huge chunk of skin and stuff, so.” you shrug.

Scott stares at you for a long moment. Or really, more... studies you. “You're human,” he says at last. “You don't heal. Not- like me.”

You remember words shouted in the rain, remember Scott running after a Kanima and bringing you with him, going right after the thing that had just nearly gutted Lydia with a single swipe of her tail.

“I don't heal as fast,” you admit. “I'm just human. But I- I chose this, Scott. I choose to run after you and piss off things that want to kill me or eat me. I won't stop. Not if,” you pause, choke on the words a little. “Not if you'll still let me, still want me there.” you draw yourself up straighter, ignore the ache in your shoulder. “And, sorry, but if you don't want me by your side, I'm still going to be there. You almost- and I wasn't there. Even if you hate me, I'll still fight for you.”

That send a startle through Scott, has him pulling himself straighter, too. “I don't hate you,” he says, “I could never- I was freaked that you hadn't told me, that you- Stiles,” he sounds exasperated. “How many times have you suggested 'kill it' as a solution to a problem?”

“Uh,” you try to count, but- “Many times?”

“Many times,” Scott agrees. “You're not- we see the world differently. We always have. It's why we work so well. What'd you say-? You can't trust anyone, because I trust everyone? Stiles, the way Theo explained it, he made it sound like- like something the Nogitsune would do. Not you. Dropping a bunch of beams on someone who's trying to eat you? That's... clumsy. That's you.”

He sounds _amused_ now, what the hell. “I didn't feel bad about him being dead,” you tell him. “My first thought was 'good'.”

“But you felt bad about something else?”

You sigh, lean against your bed, the both of you still sitting on the floor. “The only things that kept me from feeling absolutely fine with killing Donovan was my dad finding out, or you finding out.”

Scott is quiet for a moment. “Why me? Your dad I get, he's, you know, the Sheriff, but me?”

“You're Scott McCall,” you sound tired. You are tired. “You're Scott McCall, and you're a good person, probably the _best_ person, and I was scared I'd loose you.”

You don't look at him. Don't look anywhere but the inside of your own eyelids. You don't remember closing them. You are so, so, tired, and Scott isn't saying anything.

But then he leans against you, resting his head between your shoulder and your neck. His nose is cold where it touches your pulse point, and you want to make a dog joke, but he's usually so _warm_ , the cold is startling.

“You're cold,” you say in surprise.

“Dying is really tiring,” he admits, and he should know. This is the- third time?- he's been technically dead. “When was the last time _you_ slept?”

Your doctor keeps upping your Adderal prescription like he's never heard of prescription drug abuse. When things are like they are now, when the threat level is high, you don't sleep much. “Do naps count?”

“Your naps? You mean the ones where you lean against something and stare blankly at the nearest wall and then insist you were sleeping?”

“Yeah.”

“Naps do not count. I mean the last time you slept like a normal person. Snoring, drooling, all of that.”

“I do not drool,” you insist, although you know you do.

Scott laughs, stands up and pulls you with him. Pushes you onto the bed and, presumably, ignores the sudden spike of arousal your body must let out, because he is Scott and you are Stiles and you will always, always love him, in every way its possible to love someone. When he crawls in after you, he drags the covers over the both of you and curls his body around yours.

“ _Sleep_ ,” he orders you, and, well. He's your Alpha. You go to sleep.

.

You wake up because your phone is ringing, and you answer on instinct, despite being half asleep with Scott still curled around you. “Hello?”

“Oh thank god,” says a familiar voice. “I'm with Melissa, we've been trying to track everyone down, but-” he pauses. “It's Mason.”

You try to say something like 'I know' but all that comes out is some kind of gargled grunt-moan version of it.

“Oh-kay, I'm guessing you just woke up,” Mason continues. “Scott's with you, right?”

“Yeah,” you manage to say, biting down on a yawn. “Yeah, he's with me. What's- what's happening?” and suddenly, you're completely alert.

“Nothing. Nothing is happening, which is why I'm kinda freaked, here. Melissa and I have been trying to track everyone down, it's- we have Liam, he's sort of, uh, in a grief coma? Hayden is dead, I don't know if you- she's dead, Parrish took the body.”

“Oh, crap,”

“Yeah. Pretty much. We're at the hospital keeping an eye on your dad and Liam both. But Malia is in the wind, apparently with someone named Braeden?”

That has you sitting up. “Wait, Braeden's back in town? What?” You shake your head, trying to clear the last cobwebs of sleep from the corners of your mind. “Never mind, I'll try and get in contact with Malia, and if she's with Braeden she has pretty good backup if anything happens.”

“And who is Braeden?” Mason sounds frustrated.

“Braeden is a US Marshal turned supernatural bounty hunter turned ally. Next? What about Lydia, I never got a hold of her,”

A long sigh comes through the line, and you remember what it was like, suddenly, back in the beginning, when people were demanding answers to questions you didn't think were real until recently.

“ _No one_ can find Lydia. Parrish is back in the cell, the one he _melted the bars of_ , and he says she took off before he went after the bod- after Hayden.”

There's a spike of fear, that old steady burn of love for Lydia kicking up, but you take a deep breath. Theo wanted a Banshee, he wanted Lydia alive, she had to be okay. And speaking of Theo...

“What about Theo?”

Mason tells you, “I haven't seen him since he stuck his claws into Scott and killed him.”

Scott has been stirring since your phone rang, but what your heart does with those words wakes him up fully.

“Stiles? What's wrong?” but you only shake your head, and Scott silently takes the phone from you and says something to Mason, tells him what to do or gives him a motivational speech, you don't know. When he hangs up, he looks to you and you look at him.

“Stuck his claws into you,” the repeated words don't sound any better.

“Yeah,” Scott winces. “I'm almost completely healed, now.”

“Wait, Theo killed you. Is he an Alpha now? Are you still an Alpha?” One more thought strikes you, and you narrow your eyes, “What do you mean, 'almost completely healed'?”

He only stares at you for a moment, flashes his red eyes at you. Then he pulls off his shirt.

You have been best friends with Scott since the dawn of time, it feels like. You've had countless sleepovers, changed next to each other in the locker room every gym class and lacrosse practice and game. You don't, like, ogle him or anything, but you've seen him shirtless. You've seen him shirtless a lot.

It feels different when he's sitting on your bed, his hair tousled from sleep and his eyes calm as he watches you watch him, watches you find the claw marks still healing on his chest. You touch them the same way he touched the mark on your shoulder.

“They hurt?” you ask.

Scott shrugs. “A little. Not much. I've had worse.”

“They're taking their time healing,” you observe, glancing up at his face.

He looks at you wryly. “It might have something to do with all the wolfsbane I've been inhaling, lately.”

It takes you a few long seconds to figure that out. “Your inhaler!” you exclaim. “That son of a bitch put wolfsbane in your inhaler.”

You want to kill Theo, but that's nothing new. The desire to stuff an entire branch of wolfsbane down his throat and watch him choke to death on it is.

“Stiles,” Scott says, and right, he can smell killing rage.

“I wouldn't actually,” and maybe its a lie, maybe the real truth is _I couldn't actually_ , because you weren't kidding when you said you didn't have enough muscle to beat a Wendigo to death.

Scott only rolls his eyes. He's still shirtless, on your bed, and looking at you with such fondness you have to actively _not_ kiss him.

Which is probably why, when he leans forward and presses his mouth to yours, you stay frozen for a beat too long. When he pulls away, he just gives you a look, and- yeah, Scott has seen people kiss you for the first time, has witnessed the embarrassing shock you can never shake. So he waits a moment, then kisses you again.

Scott is kissing you, and you're kissing back, because there is literally no other possible option, here.

You kiss him back, because he's alive, because soon the both of you are going to have to leave this room and find Malia, find Lydia, check on Liam and Melissa and your dad. Deal with Theo, whatever his plans are, deal with the Dread Doctors- somehow. Find out what Parrish knows and what Braeden is doing back here, and wait for Deaton to decide to show up in his subtly dramatic manner. You'll fight, and hopefully, please god, none of them will die. You kiss him because of all of that, and because you love him and you might yet loose him.

His hand moves to touch the mark on your shoulder, and the ache disappears. You touch the marks on his chest, and feel them close under your fingers.

He is Scott and you are Stiles, and the world isn't done with you yet.


End file.
